a collective dream journal project

Category Archives: wings

I am still kind of in shock. I watched the plane transform as it passed two other planes. It roared and broke. Some one said “that’s not normal” It looked like bodies were falling. A body plummeted toward and smacked against the wall of the pool and into it. I raced toward the steps. I was on the median between two pools. I looked down at the girl. Someone offered a red foam board for transport. She was small and conscious but not even bleeding. She was shaking. Her legs kept sticking straight up. I am dying, she said. She writhed painfully. I woke.

In the little alcove a man with brownish skin talked. The store had changed its name. It had been Trohve in hamden. Up a back stair. A woman with a child pressed so tightly into her chest wriggled into form from the sagging twin bed. Another appeared behind her, but it was a manish form that hugged me when I told him I speak arabic. It was odd. As We left to go get into the utility truuck, I saw Rupert Wolonski, head down. I said goodbye. The side of the truck said “Mannslers” or some other Germanic thing. It was the Olde tyme writing style that made me think I was part of a german company. I got into the passenger seat. The dark skinned cabbi got to the intersection again. He wanted to take me to the new side of town andl eave me there. I was indignant. What this again!? Take me to the other side of the highway and leave me by the bus stop! But still, of he goes to the left hand turn lane that takes me toward the new part of town.

Earlier I skipped a class. I watched the time 12:10, almost 12:15 I thought. I sat with my high school friend Chris H. He kept leaning toward me. He reminded me of some earlier kiss which really had never happened. I walked down fantastic stairs of some incredible design. The shag had tubes of color flaps. It was remarkable, though I don’t remember what we were saying. I was in a motel room. I was walking through a doorway, not locking it. Musical instruments play behind him. He talked about his girlfriend. I found myself at 433 West Creek Rd. or 6266 West Creek Rd where I grew up. I was upstairs. I was reading a poster. I placed two spray bottles near Williams pillow for the cats. My pants must have fallen down. I saw a naked girl in a room laughing. There was a sauna. It was an odd misplaced sexual energy.

In the display case my name was written with a gold band on it. I saw a long board with a wooden frame. It was at the end of a long hall. “Why is my name written there?” It was my full three names. Potential graduation date perhaps. I asked aloud. In another part of the hall, someone cheerily said that so -and- so down the hall could help. I imagined a young dorky student at a wooden desk who administered a program. Someone brought a large book for me. It was yellow and very long and wide. It cost $45. They handed me $15. This was my book stipend. I also needed a Thesaurus they said. I didn’t have the money for the necessary book and I complained.

The little frog was tiny and black. It was hopping away from me almost immediately. I chased it down the side of a building, and down a stairwell. It was rainy and nighttime. I would see it hop and I would follow. I’d go for it and it would hop again. What I eventually caught was a green salamander with a fat snake-like face outside near a fountain at night. It frightened me. I brought it back to a bookshelf and tried to put it in. It was utterly insecure there. I tossed it in with my cell phone so I had to reach back inside to get that. The little black frog got put in with the baby. It tried to grab it. I thought it would smush the frog. Even when I had the frog for a moment it was hopping. So I was given one kind of small moth, but it escaped, so I was given another. It flew up and I saw its tiny orange and black wings. They were mine, but I didn’t know how to catch them or where to put them.

Earlier I had been redecorating a cake for M. She said I didn’t have to do it. I didn’t mind. I was taking pineapple slices off of one a laying them on another. The cakes were chocolate with tan colored icing. The fruit was decoration. There were three of them. I suppose I was going to give her the one that I was putting all the fruit on. It was generous of me.

I am preparing two women to be sacrificed. They are in a bird cage in my parents’ family room. I’m upstairs and annoyed that I forgot to remove their clothes, and I am nervous for them. Of course they won’t want to remove them when I instruct them to do so, but the flames will be more painful if they don’t. To my surprise they are nude when I arrive downstairs. This is the second time I have had to prepare women to be sacrificed by fire — in fact, it seems like I have prepared these very two women before (perhaps that is why they removed their clothes). I feel bad for them, I can only imagine how they feel knowing what awaits. I’m sure they are nice ladies, I’m not doing this to be mean, it just has to be done. If freeing them was an option, I would — but it isn’t. The sacrifice must be made.
As my brother, Bobby, and I are loading the cage with crumpled newspaper I see that he left them two large plates of bird food. I’m annoyed because there is too much, and if they eat it all they will be in even more pain when the fire is lit. But there is nothing I can do about it, and rationalize that the food will be a good sacrifice too — besides, they will escape if attempt to get it out.
As I’m loading the cage, the moaning, screaming women turn into beautiful birds. They are flying about and franticly trying to escape when I open the small door to load the newspaper. I know that even if they were to escape there is noway for them to get out of the house. They would be better off not fighting so hard for life and instead contemplate their short time left embodied on Earth. One of them succeeds in getting out of the cage however, and immediately after she attacks my arm with her beak. The pain wakes me up in the middle of the night. ♨